


Angst Drabbles

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Candy Gore, Cannibalism, Possesion, Shapeshifting, Trickster Mode, Vertigo - Freeform, Vore, angst meme, erm, hmmm, i am not entirely sure im doing it right but eh, i hate that i have to use that tag, self-contained chapters, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:34:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Requests from a meme on Tumblr! Angst edition, so be aware that there's going to be characters in pain in every single chapter.





	1. Painful transformation, Karkat, demonstuck

"Karkat, there isn't any reason that you really _need_ to do this right now—" Kankri begins, and then cuts himself off with a wince as you growl and twist again. 

You can't really blame him for that wince—bones definitely snapped for that one, almost certainly in your wings. _Fuck,_ that hurts—there's so many nerves there, it's like somebody fucking set you on fire. You have to gasp and put your hands flat against the wall, leaning against it as your vision actually goes red for a second. Did you fuck up your eyes too? 

"Karkat—" 

"Shut _up,_ " you snarl at him, tentatively raising one hand to check your face for damage. You already regret letting your brother watch you try to shift to a human form for the first time—he didn't have this much trouble twisting his trueshape into something that's acceptable to normal people, but then again he's an angel, not a demon; he doesn't have as far to go. 

It's not like he has to twist his form, shatter bones and fold himself down into something smaller and ostensibly weaker, flay the darkness from his skin and force parts of himself to stop existing in this plane of existence. Lucky fucker. 

Okay, there _is_ blood on your face, but it's from your nose, not your eyes. (You're not really sure what you're going to do about your eyes, actually. Leave them as shades of red? Yeah, probably. No fucking way are you trying to shift them. Too dangerous.) 

"I can't shut up when you're about to seriously damage yourself—" 

"Fuck off!" You punctuate that by snapping your wings down viciously enough to not just snap bone but also tear skin free, ripping flesh away from the joints where they meet your shoulders. The muscle doesn't want to be parted, but you dig your claws—no, nails, that was the first thing you changed and it was fucking _unpleasant_ —into your palms, tearing the membranes and spars free with an effort that sends mental pain searing through you, in addition to the actual sensation of having two goddamn limbs ripped off. 

It forces a harsh wheeze out of you, but no scream. Thank fucking god.

Kankri makes a soft, distressed sound, and you feel his hand on your back, pressure in the center of the growing wet patch there. It...probably hurts more, but you're about at your limit for processing pain. 

He's just trying to keep you from bleeding out—which is why you asked him to come be here for this, come to think of it—but you immediately, instinctively snarl at him. It's a weak, broken sound that he completely ignores.

After a moment, the pain fades a bit. 

You kind of really want to fucking stop here, call this good enough and try to reshape your form into something more mistakable for human later, when you've forgotten how fucking much that hurt. Instead, you grit your teeth and reach up to deal with your horns.


	2. Possession, Dirk, Demonstuck

The second you touch the doorknob you are aware that you made a mistake. More than a mistake. This is something that could get not just you, but everyone on this job killed. 

_**submit obey let me in stop resisting go to sleep let go**_

No fucking way will you do any of that. You know exactly what this is; D went over signs of demonic possession with you when you were ten years old, just in case anything ever happened. You're strong enough to resist this—

_**silly boy you are nothing you want me inside you want my power you want what you want**_

"Dirk?" Jake asks, right behind you. Cloth rasps against metal as he eases his gun out from under his shirt; technically, he shouldn't draw it yet. You're still in public, even if no one's around but you, him, and John. Weapons stay concealed until you get into the lair. 

_**him you want him tear his throat out let me have him break his legs and make him watch as you fuck the other one until he screams for you to kill him**_

_No,_ you say, or try to say. The demon hasn't managed full control yet, but it's immobilized you pretty fucking well; you can't warn John and Jake what's going on. Then need to get the fuck away, right now. 

_**yes yes yes let me in let me have them let me have your body and I can give you whatever you want give you the world give you blood blood blood blood**_

No, shit, no, you don't want—

The demon in your head _pushes_ , and it feels a lot like it breaks something in you. Your will to resist. Your _self._

Whatever it is, the thing shoves you aside and settles in your mind, sending tendrils of itself throughout your body. You can _feel_ its influence spreading as it takes your hand away from the doorknob, closes your hands into fists and lets them relax again, testing the limits of flesh and bone. Seeing how capable your body is of killing your loved ones. 

Capable. Very capable 

_**strong this body is strong a near perfect vessel**_

_No!_

**_yes yes yes YES_**

"Dirk, what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you?" Jake asks as the demon turns to grin at him. 

Fuck. Fuck. You're going to kill him. The demon is going to kill him, break your mind that way, take him and then take John—

John, whose main job is identifying shit like this. "Jake, _move_!" he almost screams, and shoves the other before he can do more than start to reach for his gun. The demon in your head laughs—this is going to be _fun,_ they think they can survive this, they think _you_ can survive this, ripping their hope apart will be sweeter than honey—

_Don't you fucking touch them!_

_**I touch no one but you**_

You struggle against the power controlling you. It's a completely useless effort, with no effect other than to send blinding jolts of pain through your being; the demon still lunges at Jake, the combination of your weight and John's shove adding together to send him and you both crashing to the concrete. 

Jake yelps in pain, and you cut the noise off by closing both hands around his throat, strangling him as he writhes under you in a vain attempt to get free. 

_**see yourself in his eyes see him realize you are killing him see him see you**_

You do. 

You see Jake's face as he fights for air. 

You—

Something's jammed up against the back of your neck, cold metal on skin. Before the demon can turn to grab John, slam him down against the ground until his head's a mass of bone fragments and pulverized flesh, that contact sparks into galvanizing pain, breaking the demon's control over you for an endless moment. 

Unfortunately, you don't actually get control either. The shock from the taser just fucks you up enough for Jake to buck you off, long enough for John to push you down to the ground and kneel on your chest, pinning your wrists down. 

"Jake—" John has to stop talking, wincing as the demon hisses and tries to throw him off. "Phone—" 

"I'm trying!" He's also coughing; you're surprised he managed to get even those two words out. You can see him fumbling out John's phone, tapping at the screen with hands that aren't even a little steady; did he get zapped through his contact with you? 

Maybe. Probably. Fuck, you hurt him, you hurt him, you _hurt_ him—

_**the diviner is nothing the diviner will die accept that and tell me what he is trying to do**_

Fuck no. You don't give up information to things like this. 

_**OBEY**_

The demon goes still under John, focusing all its considerable power on forcing answers out of you rather than getting free. It's a lot like being crushed to death and ripped apart at the same time; if you had control of your vocal cords you'd be screaming yourself hoarse, begging for it to stop. You are begging for it to stop. 

Then Jake _finally_ finds the file Rose recorded, and chanting that most people would write off as gibberish starts playing through the smartphone's speakers. 

For a second, nothing happens, and you hope that John has enough sense to shoot you in the head when this doesn't work. 

Then the demon _howls_. Then it tries to burrow deeper into your mind, anchor itself so it can cling to you, so it can resist the exorcism spell. You refuse to let it. You fight against its attempts, ignore the pain and shove at it until its tanglehold on you weakens and fails. Until it's forced out of your mind and body.

John has enough sense to get off you when you start gagging, thankfully. You're not sure what would happen if he touched the thick black slime that you vomit onto the concrete, but you don't really want to find out. 

As soon as you stop throwing up, John pulls you to your feet and pushes you at Jake. "Take care of him, I'll be right back." 

You want to argue, but Jake's already got his arms wrapped around you, keeping you from following John into the building, and you need to cling to him and try to tell him how sorry you are. 

By the time John slips back out, you haven't even managed one coherent word, just a lot of garbled stammering. Jake's been shushing you the entire time, gently dissuading you from touching the rising bruises on his throat. "Empty?" he asks, looking over as John digs a sharpie out of his pocket to start making an exorcism circle around the shit you threw up. 

"Empty. The fuckers abandoned the lair and tried to use _traps_ on us." God, John sounds offended. He finishes the circle, waits for the flare of light within it to fade, and puts the marker back in his pocket. "Let's get the heck out of here." 

Good idea.


	3. Dizzy, Karkat, pre-sburb

You don't even see the scalerope until it sinks its fangs into your hand. The fact that it's venomous is immediately really fucking apparent, because you can feel the cool, tingling numbness spreading up your arm even as the thing hisses and slithers away. 

"Fuck!" 

Fuck, indeed. You're _bleeding;_ if anyone sees the bright candy red... 

You hide your hand in your sleeve and straighten up. Well, try to straighten up; everything does a slow, lazy spin, disorienting you badly enough that you only barely manage to keep upright. Waiting for it to stop doesn't really help, either. 

Fuck. You can't stay here; the sun's going to come up in maybe an hour, and if you don't move you'll be dead. 

Walking isn't an option, unfortunately. You're a stubborn fucker, so you try anyway, but you make it ten steps toward your hive and trip over a rock. At least you think it's a rock. You can't see straight enough to be sure; everything's still spinning. 

Okay. Crawl. You can crawl. 

Kind of. 

Actually, the only way you can manage to make any kind of progress at all is to close your eyes and drag yourself across the ground towards your hive. Other than the dizziness and the tingling sensation, the venom doesn't seem to have any effect so far, but either of those things is more than enough to get you killed. 

Your eyes snap open again when something jerks at the back of your sweater, but your snarl immediately becomes a whine when the vertigo hits you again. Okay, fuck, you're dead—

Except the thing that has ahold of you seems content to just use your sweater to drag you across the ground. Plus it's making familiar screeing sounds, rather than hissing or growling or whatever the fuck. 

You try to struggle to your feet so Crabdad doesn't have to do all the work, decide that you can't actually do that right now, and go limp so he can pull you back inside to safety. 

Fuck, you hope this shit doesn't last too long.


	4. Candy gore, Dave and John, canon-ish timeline?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fucking hell this is extremely cursed 
> 
> tw for trickster mode and like, consensual cannibalism
> 
> EDIT: I have been informed this is vore, my existence is cancelled

John grabs you and tries to shove his fucking tongue down your throat, and you're honestly too surprised to stop him. Part of it's the fact he's doing that—Dirk warned you that trickster mode tends to have the effect of making humans weird and happy and about six flavors of horny, but you didn't expect it to be directed at _you_ —and part of it is because his kiss actually tastes...sweet. 

Like, that's not a figure of speech. He tastes sweet, like melted blue raspberry popsicles and the cream from the center of an eclair. It's weird as fuck, and not entirely in a good way.

Anyway, the combo of weird shit makes you freeze up long enough for John to tongue-kiss you, and somewhere in there your perception radically shifts. Like, you _were_ worried, but now?

This is fucking _amazing_! 

John's giggling as he pulls away, dragging you a few feet up in the air because he's floating and refusing to let go of your arms at the same time. Normally you'd complain, or at least use your own floaty powers to get on his level, but right now all you do is laugh and make a face at him. Fuck, he's cute. You want another kiss. Like, right now.

You reach up for him, vaguely noting that your nails are bright green and pink now, and he laughs and unceremoniously drops you. Since you're not floating, this means you hit the ground about half a second later, your mouth snapping shut at the impact, biting almost through your tongue. 

"John, you teasing _fuck_ —" Ooh, your mouth is full of blood. Sweet blood. Where John's kiss tasted like blue raspberries and sweet cream, this tastes like green apple soda and strawberry syrup. Fuckin' awesome, enough that you automatically swallow instead of spitting it out. 

"Daaave, you're the one who doesn't have enough sense to fly!" He comes down to hover just above you, eyes wide and excited and so close to your face. Actually, he's close enough that you can just reach up and grab a handful of his hair, pull him down into another kiss. 

Damn. Can't taste him through the appleberry-syrup taste of your own blood, though. 

When he pulls back a second later, he's licking his lips, his mouth stained the bright red of strawberry syrup. Is that what color your blood is now? You _love_ that! 

"You taste so _good_!" he squeals in excitement. "C'mon, give me more, I want _more_!" 

"Chill a second, babe," you tell him, rolling up to your feet. Your tongue's already quit bleeding; maybe tricksters heal faster than normal? Now, that's _annoying._ Or it would be, if you didn't have your sword. 

Which John snatches out of your hand as soon as you uncaptchalogue it, grabbing it by the blade and cutting his own palm in the process. The blood that comes out is bright blue, one of those colors that doesn't even seem real. 

You grab the sword back from John and run your tongue along the blade where he's bled on it. It tastes _good_! Like kissing him, except even better! Sweeter! Sweet enough to give you an instant sugar rush, on _top_ of the trickster rush! 

John licks his hand, and his eyes go impossibly wider as he bounces up and down in place and makes grabby hands at you for the sword. "Holy shit holy shit holy _shit,_ Dave, gimme that, I want more from you, you can do me after I do you, okay? It was _my_ idea, c'mooon—" 

He's so cute when he's begging, but you're excited to see what he decides to do to you, so you toss him the sword and laugh when he cuts himself again in the process of catching it. _Fuck_ yes; that means more sweetness for you to lick off his skin later! 

It suddenly occurs to you that you don't have to stop at licking. You could totally bite down into his arm, take off chunks of him and feed them to him through more kisses. It'd be sweet and he'd heal from it pretty fast; he'd love it, right? Right?

You're about to put that plan into action when John swings the sword in a clumsy arc, ripping a deep gash into your stomach. Predictably, there's a lot of blood; surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. Or maybe it does, but the pain feels good because _everything_ feels good right now. Whichever it is, John drops the sword and shoves his hand into the wound, coming out with a handful of something neon red and dripping, grinning at you as he raises it to his mouth. 

You _love_ the contrast of your candy-colored blood against his chalk-white skin, but you kind of want to add some blue, so you scoop up the sword from the ground. Your strike is a lot faster and more precise than his; one quick vertical slash across his chest, cutting through his shirt and maybe an inch deep into his skin. 

"Daaave, give me some warning!" John rolls his eyes, then squeaks as you put both hands on his waist and lean down to run your tongue across the cut you just made. Fuck, it's already closing—that's not good! 

John squeals again when you bite down and jerk your head to rip a strip of skin off; you're pretty sure it's a sound of delight. He confirms that a second later, when he yanks you up by your hair so he can lick his bright blue blood off your face. 

Oh, you're going to have _so much FUN_ with this!


	5. vampire attack, Dave/Karkat, humanstuck

Okay, you may have fucked up. As in, executive dysfunction plus a vampiric nature equals you not fucking feeding for about a week, which equals...

You definitely having fucked up.

You kind of wish you'd realize this earlier. _Before_ Karkat opened the door, _before_ you got a hint of his scent. God, it's so good, so warm and red and...delicious. Fuck, so delicious. 

You need it. You _need_ him.

"Hey, Dave, Dirk says you need to return his fucking library books before they—what the _fuck_!" 

The last three words are a direct response to you grabbing his shoulders, pulling him through the door and then slamming him back against it as it shuts, nuzzling at his neck to find the artery there. 

"Dave—" Karkat squirms and you growl at him without even thinking about it. The little bit of your brain that isn't pure fucking hunger is trying to rein you in, point out that you can't do this to him, you can't feed without asking and maybe not even at all—

Nope, rational brain loses. You found the place to sink your fangs, and before Karkat can do more than open his mouth in protest, you do exactly that. 

It's not really a big hole. Small. But Karkat's blood immediately fills your mouth, salty and coppery and absolutely _amazing._ And with the taste comes strength, enough to easily hold him still when he yelps and starts struggling against your hold. The predator in you laughs at how fragile he is—he really thinks he can best _you_? The fucking apex predator? You're so much stronger than him that he might as well be a mouse in your palm, so small you could crush him in an instant. You could drain him dry before he could do anything. You were created to hunt the hunters, you were born to kill the killers, you—

_I'm high on my boyfriend's blood, that's what I am. Oh, shit._

You jerk your fangs out of Karkat's throat and stagger a step back, wrapping your arms around your chest to keep from reaching for him again. There's still blood in your mouth, on your lips—you can't help but lick them, try to get just that little bit more. You're still hungry even though you drank enough from Karkat that he's leaning against the door for support, eyes unfocused and confused. 

Fuck... "Karkat. Fuck, Karkat?" Did you hurt him? Like, obviously you hurt him, but how _badly_ did you hurt him? "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...Karkat? Babe, please, are you okay? Karkat?" 

You don't dare touch him. Not while you can still smell the blood on his neck—he's not bleeding out, that's not how feeding works, but there's still a few drops escaping and you want it so fucking bad...

No. Bad vampire. You do not suck your boyfriend's blood when he can't defend himself slash consent to it. 

Take another step back. Keep saying his name, because you can't stop yourself, and wait for him to snap out of the daze you've left him in. 

Which he does do, after a minute, blinking twice and finally focusing on you again. The pure confusion on his face hurts your heart, and the way he instinctively reaches up to his throat makes everything worse. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dave," he says, and you back up until your back hits the wall, sliding down it to curl up in a miserably guilty ball on the floor. 

He hates you. You fucking deserve to be hated, you can't _believe_ you did that to him...he's well within his rights to walk out now and never come back. When he texts you that he wants his stuff—the clothes he's left here and the DVDs the two of you watch together and the coffee cup that he brought because you have a bad habit of using all of yours for microwaving blood in—you'll meekly mail it all to him. Karkat's never going to want to see you again, and you don't blame him—

Something beeps, and your head snaps up to see what it is without you being able to stop it. Karkat's taking a coffee cup out of the microwave, scowling at it like he's not sure what he's doing. You're pretty sure he's still a little out of it from your bite, but he's done a damn good job of preparing the bagged blood you keep in the fridge; you can smell it from here, it's registering just like a live human right now. 

He sits down on the floor next to you, and holds out the cup, waiting until you take it. When your hand brushes against his, he doesn't flinch away. Just makes sure you have a good grip on the cup before you let go. 

"Don't make me start reminding you to fucking eat every day, asshole," Karkat growls as he scoots close enough to let you lean on him as you drink the blood, and you nod. Your fangs are still too far extended with hunger for what you're holding to talk. 

By the time you finish drinking he's asleep. You kind of want to get up and burn just a little of the energy you just took in; instead, you sit still and stroke his hair, waiting for him to wake again. It's not much of an apology, but you won't wake him up to deliver a better one.


	6. creative stabbing, Dirk, post-Sburb

You're...really, _really_ regretting reprogramming the battlebot with a self-teaching algorithm. There's a _reason_ that things that are designed to try to kill you aren't supposed to evolve like this. 

That reason is probably because this kind of intelligent machine tends to be able to figure out that given precisely the right impetus and trajectory, it's possible to drive a .25 gauge steel wire right through a human's torso. _Your_ torso, to be exact. 

You need this to be out of you, but the bot's still standing over you, obviously waiting to see if you've got a trick up your sleeve or if it can just finish you off. Since moving at all sends stabbing pains through your entire body, you're pretty sure you're currently in the latter situation. 

Alright. Time to not panic, and to do something you absolutely hate doing. 

"In...initiate subroutine _killswitch._ " You have to stop and cough; it tastes like metal. Fuck. "Authorization code two-one-six-dee." 

The bot beeps in acknowledgement, lights going dark, and you start trying to shove yourself up to lean against the wall. Despite your desire to get the foreign object the hell out of your body, you very carefully don't touch the wire yet. 

Once you've gotten yourself somewhat-upright (if still sitting on the floor) you gingerly give the wire an experimental tug. 

Jesus _fuck_. 

You almost pass out. Yeah, it moves, but an ugly bolt of pain accompanies that small accomplishment. You also almost bite through your tongue. 

Okay. Think this through, Dirk. Do not panic. It's not all the way through; maybe eight inches in? Fuck, you can't remember how long this chunk of wire was to begin with. At least there's not that much blood on the wire; it won't have that liquid slipperiness to make it that much harder to pull out—

The whole time that you've been distracting yourself with analyzing, your hands have been busy winding the wire around to get a good grip on it. It's much easier to work with when you're not thinking about how the other end's probably buried in an internal organ right now. Still, if you let yourself think about the incredibly stupid thing you're doing, you'd never have enough willpower to yank the damn thing out of you in one smooth motion. 

Fortunately, you are not currently thinking about that, and the wire's out of your stomach and lying on the floor before you register the pain. And fuck is there a lot of pain, enough to make you curl up around the hurt, push you right off the edge of consciousness. 

You kind of hope this kills you, since it definitely won't be Heroic or Just. You really don't want to have to go beg Jane to heal a punctured stomach or kidney or whatever the fuck the wire hit. Especially since she'll demand an explanation.


End file.
